Sacrifice
by Arwana13
Summary: One day, Arthur rushes in a meeting with a bruise on his cheek and a magical chip in his pocket. A chip containing the story of the invisible nation who has been suffering in silence for years. Will his cries ever be heard? FACE family fic.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer-I do not own Hetalia.

London, July 7, 2013

The meeting had started at 10. So it was understandable that, when Arthur entered the room at 11:30 with a bruise on his cheek, Alfred was ready to send in the cavalry.

"England!" the voice of the 200-something year old teenager rang out in the room. "Who did this to you? Was it those jerk brothers of yours? No, I bet it was that fucking commie bastard!" Alfred turned to where the large Russian was quietly kol-koling. "Hey, you fucking commie bastard! How dare you touch Arthur!"

Before WW3 could erupt, the room's attention was dragged back to England, who let out a rather un-manly yelp as France prodded his bruised cheek. "Hmmm….this does not look like a sign of l'mour. Who did this, Angleterre?", he asked with rare concern in his voice.

"…."

"Hmm? What was that mon cher?"

"It was Tatiana!" England burst out.

The countries gathered did a collective owl impersonation. "Is that some girl you pissed off with your eyebrows, tea bastard?" Romano asked in a lazy voice.

"Ohonhonhon, mon petite Angelterre is growing up", spoke France with stars in his eyes. "Just a few years and you'll be a lady-killer, just like your big-bother France."

"Shut up, you fucking frog! Tatiana is one of my fairies."

Silence.

COMPLETE FUCKING SILENCE

"Ve~, Germany, I'm confused. How does an imaginary friend hurt you? Unless..", the Italian trailed off sudden tears coming to his eyes. He launched himself at England and started wailing. "England, I know your food sucks and all your brothers leave you and your real brothers tease you and your eyebrows are ridiculous and…"

Fifteen Minutes Later

"…but that doesn't mean you have to hurt yourself and blame it on your imaginary friends!"

The countries looked at Arthur who had begun trembling mid-rant. His bangs covered his eyes and his knuckles were white. "Thank you for the support Veneziano."

Unfortunately, some other countries present *cough*a-certain-stupid ex-colony*cough* took this as conformation. Bawling, he grabbed that Englishman into his arms. "Artie, I'm so sorry I never saw this before. I promise that from now on, I'll use good English and I'll at less hamburgers (I could never quit, obviously) and I'll protect you from the perverted frog ("Ah, an arrow has pierced through my heart"). Whenever you're feeling angry or sad or anything, you can even punch me!"

The corner of England's mouth curled in a smirk. "Well, in that case..."

WHAM!

The American staggered back, clutching his jaw. "Now, if you would be kind enough to let me explain, one of my fairies just kicked my arse out of my house, screaming about what an insensitive bastard I was and told me I wasn't allowed back in until I watched this." With that he held up what looked like a chip. It had weird engravings on its sides. "So, if you wouldn't mind I'd like to get this over with", he said, addressing Germany.

Germany sighed before agreeing. "Ja, we were going to take break anyway."

"Bloody brilliant. Now for the spell to activate it…."

"England?", Australia asked, having watched his guardian mutter with his eyes closed for the past five minutes. As though hearing him, England's eyes shot open glowing a rich golden. His muttering increased in volume and the nations watched in horror as the English countryside clogged up with thunder clouds. The loud rumble of lightning was heard as the sky started pouring buckets of water. With a last few words spoken in a language none of them understood, England threw the chip in the middle of the table.

A second passed.

2 seconds.

"Hey, Iggy, maybe it didn't wo-WOAH!"

The chip glowed a soft violet as it projected colors above it. Slowly but surely, an image started to form. It showed a young boy, probably 10 or so, sitting in the edge of a cliff, his feet dangling off he was singing in a strange yet beautiful tongue.

"Who is that, aru?", China wondered.

They all jumped as a voice started speaking.

"It was well known in my land before that all things are predetermined. I was meant to live with whoever I lived with. The great wars were meant to happen. Every single sorrow in my life, every tiny bit of joy, every tear and every smile was planned out way before I came into existence."

"Hey, that's Birdies voice!" Gilbert exclaimed joyfully. Seeing the blank looks given to him, he scowled. "Seriously, you guys are totally unawesome! Canada? The second largest nation in the world?"

"Oh!" Francis gasped bringing his hands together. "Mon petite Mathieu!"

"He isn't _your_ anything, you godamn frog!"

"Would you to sop fighting like a married couple? Birdie's about to speak again." complained Gilbert.

And so he was.

"However, they are some people who fight that fate. There are some people who choose their own families, build empires to keep them company,", with that, an image flashed, showing Arthur decked out in his pirate outfit, "there are some who defy what destiny has in store for them and take flight on their own", a photo of Alfred, dressed in his Revolutionary uniform, an eagle taking flight behind him, " and there are some, who choose to hide behind masks, make sure that no one could ever hurt them with their words." A picture of Francis, with his hair held back by a ribbon, sniffing at a rose.

"But the fact remains, that for every act of fate eluded, there was a price to be paid." Canada, again, on the cliff, this time close enough for them to see gentle, sorrowful violet eyes. "A price must be paid, not in glorified notes or coins, but rather in heartbreak. A price that my family will never have to pay. Because every time they defied fates path, I would pay that price for them. I would be their…hmm, what did Lovi call it? Ah, yes, I'd be their 'Agni Immolati'."

"Lovi…", Antonio began, uncertainty lacing his voice. Some of the nations turned to Lovino, who by now was sickly and shivering. Before anything else happened, their attention turned to the screen where Matthew had begun to speak again, his soft voice overlapping the voice of the youner Matthew, who was still singing in that weird tongue. "I am Canada, son of Maka, brother of America and ex-colony of France and England. And this is my story…"

Agni Immolati-Sacrificial Lamb

Anyways, this is an idea that just popped in my head. Mattie's had a pretty horrible life, being tossed around from brother to brother and always being neglected on top of that. So, how do we get the countries to watch his pain? Speaking ain't an option; he's so nice, he'd probably understate it. So, voila! Magic.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer-I do not own Hetalia

"When the Europeans set foot on the continent…well, truth be told, the first thing I felt was dread. It was like even back then, I knew that their arrival signified something huge. The next emotion that hit me was…joy. I think this was mainly because I was completely aware that their arrival here indicated something amazing. We were going to get to meet an entire world which we had been hidden from. The thought was terrifying and yet exhilarating."

With these words, the image changed again. The countries watched in awe as a rainbow of colors shimmered before slowly settling down on an image containing 2 blondes. They recognized them as younger versions of Alfred and Matthew. Then, the voice spoke again.

"Living with my brother before the colonization had been…bliss. We were inseparable. And we were at our strongest when we lived under our mother. However, the moment the Europeans set foot on the land, mother had become…withdrawn. She would not see us as much anymore. She would not come out to make sure that Alfred didn't exhaust himself in the bright summer sun or to make sure that I didn't forget that just because my land was cold, didn't mean I was immune to fevers. I would only realize years later that this was because she as dying. Mother America, or Maka, as we called her, had begun to fade away as England slowly won Alfred to his side and convinced him to live with the Brit. For the time being, I was too busy watching the Europeans interact with my brother."

The vision slowly changed again as it depicted 2 blonde men fighting over a small child, who was too busy poking around in a bush to even notice them. "It that…?" Alfred trailed off.

"Qui! Angleterre and I fighting over you, Amerique." Francis chuckled. "If I remember what happened next correctly then…"

The nations watched as the England in the vision was slowly reduced to tears. They turned their incredulous gazes to the Englishman.

"_That's_ how you won over America?" Australia asked.

"I can't believe he chose your eyebrows over Francis' cooking!" Gilbert exclaimed.

"Sod off, you gits!" England defended, blushing furiously.

Before anyone else could interrupt, a voice came from the corner most chair that silenced them all. "Shut the fuck up and pay attention, you motherfucking bastards." Lovino's voice was almost a whisper but it carried throughout the room effortlessly.

"Lovi…" Antonio worried. The Italian ignored him in favor of leaning towards the apparition.

A giggle captured the attention of the countries as they too began looking towards the screen to see violet eyes looking at France, England and America from the topmost branches of the nearby trees. As England and America walked leaving Francis behind, the Frenchman too began to walk in the opposite direction, his eyes glassy, not even noticing where he was going.

The time flash-forwarded to when the sun had set. Francis now had a fire going on in front of him as he sat on a log, warming himself up. His eyes were still a little glassy. All of a sudden his stomach let out let noise, the sound seeming to wake him from his trance. Once again, giggling was heard, but this time eve the Frenchman noticed it, He began to look around curiously for its source, when an apple was suddenly thrown to the ground on front of him.

His eyes snapped to where Canada was standing, half-hidden behind a tree. Then never once shaking eye contact, he slowly picked up the apple, brought it near his water skin and washed it. Taking a knife from his pocket, he began to cut the fruit into thin slices. He offered one to Matthew, who shrank further back. Then, when it became clear that the amethyst eyed child was not going to join him, he put the fruit to his mouth ad begun to eat.

As he watched his friend coax the small blind child out of the tree, Gilbert commented, "Even though your method was girly as well, it was much better than bushy-brow's, Franny."

"Merci, Gilbert."

"When Francis learnt that I was Alfred's brother and that I was living alone, he took me to live with him." Images of a beautiful villa, surrounded by trees, situated near a cliff. They saw the father-son duo play in the stream, cook in the kitchen, they saw Francis teaching Matthew how to play the piano, which received an approving sniff from Rodreich. In the middle of all these pictures, Matthew began to speak again. "In the time I was with Francis, I was the happiest I had ever been. It seems like I was also the stupidest. To the Europeans, I was naught but a replacement for my brother."

"I should have known that that happiness was too good to last."

The vision showed a letter next. They all could read what the letter said.

'….the colony known as Canada has become too much of a burden to our country. The land contains nothing but snow and does not produce enough crop to support our population. In short, the land much more trouble than it's worth. Please, Francis, I know you're fond of the boy, but think of _your_ country. Think of its people. Are you really willing to let your strange fascination with a little boy above your own children? Please, rethink your decision. Britain, as uncouth as he is, would take good care of the boy. Besides, does he not have a colony about that age currently? The one that you were fighting for initially?'

The scene froze, as did most of the nations in the room.

"Frog?"

Francis had stilled. His eyes were filled with what looked like tears. As soon as he saw the stares being directed at him, he immediately looked down, dabbing his eyes. "Ah, yes. This is a letter from an advisor of mine."

"What does he mean, 'rethink your decision'?" Japan ventured.

"Ah, yes that. You see, many of my people had tried to make me give up mon cher Matthieu. As you would have guessed from this, he was rather expensive guest to have in my house. But, he was mon petit Matthieu. I couldn't just give him up!"

By the end of his speech, Francis had become hysterical. Gilbert and Antonio looked desperately toward Arthur, urging him to speak. They had never seen their friend like this, and to be frank, it scared the shit out of them.

"Is that why you couldn't look back that day, Francis?" Arthur said, calling France by his name in a rare moment of concern for the person who he used to think of as _his_ big brother once.

"Qui." Francis spoke, his voice quivering. "I was afraid that if I did look back, I'd never be able to leave."

Alfred looked between them, confused before a light went off in his head. "Are you guys talking about _that _day?"

Francis nodded his head gloomily."Qui. The day Angleterre took mon petit away from me."

The people in the room were silent before a voice broke through. "Che, so the wine bastard lost his sacrificial goat, boo-hoo. Let's all cry for him."

"Lovino!"Antonio reprimanded in a harsh voice, "Stop being so callous! Francis is really hurting right now!"

The Italian glared around the room before he t'ched again. "That's it. I'm getting out of here before the sheer hypocrisy floating around this room chokes me."

With that, he started making his way to the exit, uncaring of all the wide-eyed nations around him. However, before he could leave, a strong hand gripped his wrist tight. "Let me go, you bastard!"

"You aren't going anywhere until you tell us why you're acting like this," Alfred all but snarled, light glinting off his glasses. "What do you know about Mattie that we don't?"

Lovino laughed a bitter laugh. "A better question would be- what don't I know about him that you do?" He glared at the nations across the room who looked like they were soon about to start weeping. "Tell me the truth-did any of you even notice that he wasn't here before the bastard started showing you the chip?"

Silence.

"Do any you know _why_ he isn't here?"

Silence.

A vicious laugh dragged itself out of Lovino's throat again. "That's what I thought."

Before he could walk out of the exit, it swung itself shut. Lovino snarled. "_What now?"_

"If you're willing to tell us what you know, then speak and get out. If you aren't then sit down and shut up," Arthur said from the other side of the room. Lovino growled and threw himself in the nearest seat. There was an awkward silence before Arthur sighed and the chip started to play again.

The scene shifted from the letter to a blonde child holding a letter. His arms were shaking and his head was bowed. He knelt in what looked like a study with many such letters surrounding him. France, noticing China's gaze, chuckled weakly. "As I said, many of my people tried to convince me to give him up. But I never realized that he found the letters," here, he cut himself off with a sob that mirrored the one the child in the vision gave. Their eyes turned the scene again as Matthew dropped the letter and began to rush out of the study.

He ran down a hall before stopping near a door. It opened with a creek and he let himself in the room quickly, quietly shutting the door behind him. The room was a quaint one. It had been painted a soothing blue and was devoid of many personal effects. In the middle of the room, there was a large bed on which there was a pile of sheets. A closer look told them that underneath that pile, Francis was buried.

The Frenchman looked horrible. There was a large bruise spreading across his face. His hair was nearly filthy and he had large bags underneath his eyes. It seemed that Matthew too, had noticed this, as tears started falling quicker down his face. He held his hand to his mouth to stifle a sound of distress. Slowly, as if he was unsure of what the unconscious being on the bed would do to him, he started walking towards him. As soon as he reached the bed, he fell one his knees, grasping Francis' larger hand in his. And then, he spoke in a fragile whisper that seemed to fill the room

"I'm sorry that I'm such a burden. I'm sorry that you're hurt because of me. I'm sorry that even though you're tired, you still feel the need to abandon your country and come here to look after me. I'm sorry that I'm causing problems for your people. I'm sorry that I can't grow enough to food to support you and that I'm a barren land, full of ice and rock," he suddenly cut off, making a choked noise. The words that he spoke next horrified every country in the room.

"If I could, then I would have given up every bit of snow I have, just to be worthy of your love."

There was a moment of silence before he broke down again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…."

They did not know how long they watched the child kneel, his guardian's hand clutched in his, whispering soft apologies. It was only when Francis, still deep in sleep's grasp, made a soft noise, furrowing his eyebrows that he looked up. All of a sudden, Matthew stood up in one fluid motion, his eyes suddenly bright. He looked at the figure in the sheets, smiling a soft sorrowful smile as he slowly kissed his Papa on his forehead. "Don't worry, Papa. I won't be a burden on you anymore." With that, he ran out of the room as quickly as he came in.

The Frenchman watched, terrified, as his son slipped on a cloak and headed for the door. "Kumakaji," he spoke to the polar bear, "I'm going way for some time. Stay here and make sure that no one disturbs Papa, okay?"

"Where are you going?" the bear asked.

Matthew smiled that same sad smile. "To do something I should have done long ago." He stepped out of the house and into the blizzard.

Then, the narrative voice came back, the one that didn't sound like that of the 8 year old child. "As I stepped out, I started making my plans. One thing was obvious, I stay with Papa any more. The next best option? Britain. I could simply go to my brother's house and demand that he take me in, but that would make Papa look as though he abused me or something. Hmm…what to do now?"

"I do not think that I would sound narcissistic if I said that my final plan was rather ingenious. I decided that I would enter my brother's land and allow him to catch a glimpse of me. I remembered correctly that Alfred was a rather demanding child. Once he saw me and realized what I was, he would definitely ask Britain to get me for him and Britain would undoubtedly do so. This way, nobody was the villain. Alfred would ask for me because he was lonely, Britain would get me for him because he's a good parent and Papa would be forced to let me go. In the end, it all worked out smoothly and soon enough, _that day_ came."

The scene changed from the running boy to a dock. Matthew was standing on one end, his amethyst eyes looking teary while Arthur and his men surrounded him. On the other end of the dock, facing Arthur was Francis, his hair tied up and his eyes cold. Both men stared each other down before Francis spoke up, "He's yours Angleterre." He turned his back and started walking towards a ship. Matthew's eyes widened before the older voice came in to speak.

"I had made my peace with transferring guardians long before this moment. That was a long and painful process, involving many tears and a panic attack or two. But I'd always imagined this moment…differently. I imagined that Papa would hug me tight, uncaring of who saw and tell me that he'd always love me like he used to before this happened. And now, he was walking away from me without even saying goodbye? I couldn't just let him go! I needed some proof that his heart held some love for me. Proof that I wasn't just a replacement for Alfred. And that's why…."

"PAPA!" the younger Matthew screamed, his voice echoing in the silent harbor. "PAPA, S'IL VOUS PLAÎT! PAPA!" He was being restrained by several British men, tears flowing down his cheek while Arthur watched with an interested look, for which the present Arthur got some pretty scathing ones.

The figure that was walking away slowed down for a second. His head twitched back about a degree while the wailing Matthew watched. Then, without a word, the figure began to walk away, slowly getting on the ship and fading over the horizon.

Thanks to those who reviewed, followed or favorited my story. Honestly, this is my first fanfic, so, hope I didn't disappoint you guys! 


	3. Chapter 3

sI do not own Hetalia.

After the chip shut down, there was silence in the room; most countries too busy gathering their thoughts. But, after a second, pandemonium broke out.

"How could you do that to a child?" Hungary demanded to know.

"Totally unawesome, the both of you." Gilbert agreed.

"Ve~I feel so sorry for Mr. Canada."

"No child should have to go through that, aru."

As the cacophony of voices continued to rise, England and France sat shamefaced in the middle, looking at the ground. Alfred, who had been looking dazed at where the vision had faded away, suddenly look up as a particularly vicious yell from Cuba got his attention. Looking at the two older countries, he froze, before a determined look came in his eyes.

The countries, too busy shouting and accusing, failed to notice the American standing up until he shouted "Shut the fuck up, all of you!"

Silence reigned.

Alfred sighed. "Good. Now let's sit down and talk about this properly. No screaming, raising your voices or accusing, am I clear?"

"…"

"_Am I clear?"_

"Yes" the countries replied through gritted teeth.

"Good," he said. "Now, Franny," turning to Francis, "you will tell us exactly what happe-Francis?!"

The country of love had buried his face in his arms, his shoulders were shaking. Arthur was by his side in a split-second, slowly rubbing his shoulders ad murmuring in a British accent in an attempt to sooth the shaking Frenchman. Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes red and puffy, tears practically racing down his face. "Angle-angleterre, mo-mon Matth-Matthieu oh, Dieu, what have I done!"

"Hush, frog. You know you are not the only one at fault here," England said, looking troubled. "Goodness knows, I haven't been a good guardian to the boy, but now that we're beginning to know these things, we have a chance of solving the, don't we?"

"Yeah, totally," Gilbert said in an attempt to cheer up his friend. "After we finish watching these unawesome scenes, you can, like, go over to his house and lick Birdie's shoes!"

Pause. Everyone stared at the ex-nation before turning to Ludwig, who gave them a long-suffering look that said, "Don't even _think _about asking."

So they didn't

A sudden snort from the end o he table startled the nations. They turned to see Lovino, who was wearing a wicked smirk, looking at where Francis and Arthur where situated. Then, he said a single word which caused Francis to flinch.

"Pathetic."

"Ok," Arthur growled. "I have sat by, _calmly_, while you have insulted my family over and over again. Now, I simply _have _to ask, _what the hell is your problem?_"

Lovino's mouth curled up in a sneer. "_You're _my problem. All of you," he said looking at the room at large. "All of you pathetic hypocrites who have just seen a fraction of his pain, and yet dare to think you can mend the bond which you have broken. These memories show you, what, 2 instances where one of you fuckers interacted with him?" A dry laugh erupted from his mouth. "Let e tell you something-he has been hurt by each of you much more than 3 times. And every time, _every fucking time_, he never blamed you. _That_, is my 'problem'."

The countries looked shocked by the end of his rant. Silence spread through the hall, broken by only a fragile whisper that erupted out of Francis' mouth. "What else have I done to him?"

Arthur looked at him, worried. "Francis you don't-

He was cut off by the Frenchman. "_Au contraire, Angleterre_, I do." Turning to Lovino, he repeated his question. "What else have I done to him?"

Lovino looked at him with surprise and…approval, in his eyes, before he caught himself and the emotions went back to vicious hatred. His reply was short. "Quebec."

"Quebec?" America asked.

Lovino nodded. "I wasn't there to see it, but from what I've heard, during the entire fiasco he was basically delirious. He fainted during the speech that that bastard made, and after that, he was confined to the bed with a ridiculous fever. The entire time he was either muttering or screaming in French. Hell, they even had to chain he hands because he tried to cause himself physical pain to get away from the dueling personalities in his head."

Francis looked stricken. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

Lovino scoffed. "After what your bastard of a president did, did you really think that the Canadian government would let you see him?" When he received no reply from the rapidly paling Frenchman, he continued. "Because if you did, then you'd be right."

Francis' head shot up as he looked at Lovino with an incredulous gaze.

Lovino sighed, replying to the unspoken question. "They sent letters to England, France, America and quite a few of the previous and existing colonies. Out of all those people, only two came to visit. Those were, I think, Australia and ….Hong Kong?"

The nations turned the sights to the stoic nation. "Hong Kong?" Yao inquired.

Karou slowly nodded in affirmation.

"Why?" Japan asked.

Karou was silent for a few moments before he gave his answer. "When I was given to England (Yao flinched), he was…kind to me. He understood what it was like to change hands and guardians and the fear that you felt when you were expected to…mold yourself to a new person's whim. He even went as far as to learn Mandarin to put me at ease. It is only natural that I would experience…concern upon learning of his condition."

"And what about you, Steve?" New Zealand asked with curiosity in his voice.

Australia shrugged. "The same reasons, really. He used to calm me when I had nightmares and cook food for me and a lot of other mothering shit when I was a kid. He's my brother, ya know?"

"And why," England asked, massaging his head between his hands, "would neither of you care to inform us of his condition?"

Steve and Karou exchanged looks. "Well," Steve began, "I'm not sure about Hong Kong, but I didn't do it 'cause he not to."

"It was the same for me," Karou spoke up. "Besides, I wasn't sure how he would react to countries speaking other languages when he was already facing that much of a struggle. I, myself, had to tread carefully and had to alter between French and English based on what he speaking at that moment."

Alfred, who up until now had been quiet (if that isn't a sign of the end of the world, I don't know what is), suddenly spoke up. "How do _you_ know, this?" he demanded, turning to Lovino.

The raised an eyebrow at the tone in which this was spoken. Loftily, he gave the answer. "One of Matteo's caretakers from that time kept a diary. I was visiting his house one day when he was cleaning the storage and I decided to give him a hand. He fell asleep, and I, got my hands on it."

"I don't remember getting any letter around that time," Arthur muttered. "Are you sure that they sent me one?" he asked looking up.

Surprisingly enough, Steve gave the answer for this. "Ya, I'm positive, mate. Half the time, he kept muttering about how you would be there soon."

Arthur flinched. Lovino caught it and, with a disgusted expression spoke, "You see? You people abandoned him, neglected him and basically treated him like shit, and he still kept on believing in you. That there, that is why I can't believe a single word that you people say about 'fixing' this relationship."

The nations were quiet, contemplating the unusual behavior the Italian was displaying, as well as, the story unfolding before their eyes. After a few minutes, Lovino sighed. "You know what? I don't even care anymore. Can we just get this damned thing over with?"

Arthur, still shaken by what he had been told did what the Italia asked, watching with trepidation, as I knowing that what was coming next was going to destroy him. And sure enough, he was proven right.

Matthew's melodious voice rang out in the room again. "My time with Arthur was a rather volatile thing, if I remember correctly…"

Hey guys, it's me again. Thanks once to more to all reviewers, followers and favoriters. You guys rock.

Don't worry, I have some really good plan about both Arthur and Alfred.

Love,

Arwana


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own Hetalia.

"I remember Papa telling me about him. He always called him _Angleterre. _Papa told me of the time when he was a boy, how he was always bullied by his brothers. Of how he still stood up and fought. Of his fury and of how it would make the seas shake. He also told me of his loyalty, of what he would do to make those whom he loved happy. I guess that was why I was glad that my brother lived with him. At least that way, I knew that he would be safe."

The image reformed to three blondes sitting in the kitchen. The countries watched a young America with awe. The ten year-old seemed to be telling Arthur something, and Arthur was smiling gently as he nodded along with the excited child. Matthew, though…he sat at the edge of the table, playing listlessly with what looked like burnt charcoal in a plate. Francis could feel tears coming on again as he realized exactly _what_ fate he left his precious _Matthieu's _taste buds to.

"I suppose that my stay there could have been much worse. He could have made me give up Papa's culture. He could have punished me whenever I accidentally spoke French. He could have made me do chores, like I remember my Papa telling me that some countries make their colonies do. Instead, all I was expected to do, was to not speak French often in his presence, to not throw tantrums and to attend my lessons whenever he called me or Al."

An image of the three blondes outside in what looked like a garden. Alfred was chasing an eagle while Arthur ran behind him, telling him to be careful. Matthew sat in a chair near the gate, his head buried in a book.

"Alfred you idiot, watch out for that log!"

"Haha, Iggy is sloowww!"

"Stop murdering my language! And my name is not Iggy!"

"Iggy! Iggy! Iggy! Iggyiggyiggyiggyiggggyyyyy!"

Throughout this entire fiasco, Matthew sat, unaffected. He looked up after a particularly vicious shout, ("Come on, old man! You can't be that slow!" "I'm not old!") and, after seeing what was happening in front of him, raised an eyebrow, looked back to the book, and promptly shifted so that he maintained his grip on it, while at the same time, somehow blocked his ears.

Ludwig watched this with envy. "How did he even do that?" he muttered quietly, remembering all the times he desperately needed such a skill and found himself lacking.

"So, yes, there were times of light during my stay. But, that does not block out the fact that there were many times when darkness reigned."

The vision immediately changed, stopping at the image of a bedroom at night. The sound of rain could easily be heard. They spotted Matthew, with his arms curled up around himself, lying on the bed against the headboard. He was trembling badly and his breath came in short, sudden gasps.

"What's wrong with him?" Finland asked in concern.

France answered him. "Ahh…_mon petit Mathieu_ has always…disliked thunderstorms. I remember, he used to come in my room in the middle of the night, all scared and shivering, and then, he used to raise up his arms and say in that adorable voice, "." He chuckled. "So cute."

"As you can see, I wasn't very…fond of thunderstorms. The rain and I had a love-hate relationship. It signified the coming of winter, which was when I was the strongest. It told of good crops and fertility. (Alfred snickered.) But, rain as also when everything started to go wrong. It was raining when the first settlers sailed away, never to return to the American continent again. It was raining when my mother died. It was raining when they signed the treaty that pushed me away from my _Papa_. So, you would understand why I loathed the rain so much."

They could hear sounds of what sounded like a lullaby lilting through the walls of the bedroom. "What is that?" Gilbert asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Francis turned to look at Alfred with a knowing looking in his eye. Said nation simply rubbed the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "Ah…I didn't like thunderstorms either."

Prussia cackled. "So weetle Allie-wallie needed a good little song to go to sleepkins?" he cooed. Then he turned to England as a thought struck him. "You used to him to sleep?"

Arthur blushed. "Oh, sod off, you wanker."

Despite the lullaby that was echoing, Matthew tensed up. Then, he started shaking more than ever, small sobs tearing from his throat. "P-papa…_please."_

Francis could feel his heart breaking as he watched his precious son cry. For once, there was complete and utter silence in the meeting room.

The nations jumped suddenly as a sudden bolt of lightning flashed from the image, followed by deafening thunder. Matthew let out a sudden scream which he quickly muffled with his wrist. He buried his face in the covers and, even though they could not see him or hear his cries as much, they could see his little body shaking. As thunder sounded once more, he dug into the bed more than ever, and, even though the rain was falling more violently than ever, they could clearly hear a sickening _squelch_.

"What was that?" Alfred demanded his blue eyes worried.

"His wrist…" Yao murmured.

Seeing that the nations were still confused, Russia elaborated. "Matvey's wrist as still caught in between his teeth. When, the thunder sounded, he must have…"

"Are you saying that he _bit_ into his own hand to stop from screaming?" Arthur demanded, horrified as he finally understood what was happening.

"Da."

Francis, who had been quiet during this exchange, turned to Arthur. "Where are you?" he demanded. "Haven't you heard him shout? Haven't you heard him cry? Why the _hell_ aren't you in there by his side?" By the end of his rant, the Frenchman was panting heavily, tears falling from his own eyes.

Arthur looked down, shamefaced and shocked. Why _wasn't _he there? He hadn't even known that Matthew was afraid of storms before this meeting. Why hadn't he bothered to find out his own son's fears? 'Francis would never have let that happen,' a voice taunted him in his head.

They were saved from hearing the Englishman's answer as the storm in the vision let up and the room turned light again. The vision showed the next day, they noticed, as the drops of rain still clung to the window. Matthew was clearly visible to them; he had probably turned during the night. His eyes had dark circles under them and his face was stained with tear tracks. What caught their attention though, was the messy cut on his wrist that looked like teeth marks, and the dried blood around his lips.

"That night was a defining feature of my stay at Arthur's house. The scar that lingered on my wrist the next morning, a constant reminder that my earlier thought was true. For the Europeans, I was but a replacement for my brother. Why on Earth would they bother with me if they already had him?"

"And so, I forced myself to grow up. 'Storms are nothing but events of nature.' I told myself. 'To be afraid of them is foolish."

"And, as I gained more brothers, I was glad that I taught myself that."

Hey guys! I'm back again!

Sorry for being so late. My unawesome school decided to hold my unawesome exams. Ah, well, I was awesome throughout them anyway.

So, what do you think? Arthur's turn isn't over yet. I have a really horrible memory coming on, and I will not stop until I have made him cry! Until then, favorite, review and follow!

Love,

Arwana.


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own Hetalia.

"Canada"-talking

Canada- not vision.

_Canada –_ vision/magic screen

"_Canada"- _talking in vision.

"As you saw, even before Alfred left, my relationship with Arthur wasn't the best. After the revolution, however…things got even worse."

"I don't blame Alfred for wanting freedom. It was only logical that he would want it. With the power that he was gaining…you can't just chain someone who had that much life in them. So, yes, I understand his need for independence. It was one that even I felt quite a number of times. But the fact remained that this wasn't someone tyrannical monster that he so often read or heard about it one of Arthur fairytales. This was _Arthur_."

"Arthur, despite not seeming like it, had one of the fragile psyches that I have ever seen. It is only natural, I guess, to develop that sort of a mind when you're living on an island separated from the rest of the world with just your brothers, who hate you for a crime you don't even remember committing. So, it was only natural that when he found Alfred, when Alfred _chose _him, he hung on to that affection as a neglected child would to sudden attention from his or her parents. Suddenly receiving news of his beloved son allying himself with his father's bitterest enemy to gain independence did nothing to help him."

_The sky was dark, thick droplets of water falling heavily down on the shaking body who was on his knees in the field. His head was bowed, but they could easily understand from the messy blonde hair that this was Arthur. _

Alfred glanced at the Brit worriedly, as did Francis. He looked alright to the casual observer, but they could tell that he had gone slightly pale and that the hand holding the teacup to his mouth was trembling a little. Alfred frowned. The revolution was years ago. It shouldn't still be affecting him this much.

_Arthur coughed suddenly. This was followed by another one, which soon followed by one more, until he was bent even more, clutching at his stomach. A dark substance shone on the ground. _

_Blood._

Alfred sat up even more, his eyes possessing a panicked look. Why, in all his experiences of dragging a drunk, depressed and hysterical Arthur to his home had he never heard about this?

_When the coughs finally stopped, Arthur was still for a second. Then, as though someone had cut strings holding him upright, he collapsed on the ground, the blood soaking through his blonde hair._

"_Arthur!" they heard a voice shout. Matthew came into view, dressed in a red coat, showing his support for the British. He stood still for a moment as he spotted the unconscious figure before breaking into a full sprint. He skidded to a stop when he reached his still guardian, eyes growing wide and horrified as he took in all the blood._

_He screamed for his bear even as he dropped to the ground, checking Arthur for any external wounds. The furious roar of the protective familiar was heard as his eyes widened in realization when he saw no wounds decorating Arthur's lithe form. In a matter of seconds, his companion, no longer a cub, but fully grown, beautiful in all his wrath, came and stood beside him._

"_I'm fine, Kumajiro," he soothed his friend as the guardian spirit scouted the area, looked for whoever posed a threat to Matthew. "Arthur however…" his voice trailed off as his worried eyes came to rest once again on the lifeless body. "He needs immediate medical attention. Can you do that for me, Kuma? Can you take him to the doctors?"_

_The bear looked into the anxious eyes of his friend before he grunted softly. Matthew relaxed. "Merci, mon ami."_

_Together, they managed to get the limp form on the bear's back. Matthew patted his familiar's leg, giving him an unspoken command to go. The bear, however, bent down, nuzzling his companion's face. Matthew eyes widened again, before softening with an unrecognizable emotion. He gave a tinkling laugh and then spoke softly "I'll be fine, my love. For now, Arthur is your charge. Guard him as you would do for me. Do you understand?"_

_The animal's head bowed slightly as a pale hand stroked his nose. "Good," Matthew smiled. "Now, get going. I'll see you soon, alright?"_

_After giving one last slobbery lick to his master's face, the familiar bounded away, a prone form attached firmly to his back. Matthew watched them go, white teeth worrying his lower lip, as his right hand came up to clutch a cross that hanging from his neck._

_After what seems like ages, Matthew unfroze from that spot and begun the long journey home. Before he left, he turned to the direction of the newly freed America, from where sounds of revelry could be heard. His eyes darkened and with one venom-filled sentence, he turned back and left the blood-soaked plain._

"_Whatever freedom you now possess, brother…I hope it was worth this."_

**Hey guys! So sorry for my slow update speed. It's just that I thought that I had this chapter in the bag, but all plans shattered with one revalation:**

**I am in **_**love**_** with Arthur Kirkland.**

**Seriously, he's one of the saddest and awesomest characters there is. I couldn't make him suffer more. So, I changed my tune. But don't worry, Arthur's part in this sob-fest isn't finished.**

**Hope you like the new writing style. The old one, where I wrote out whenever the vision started or ended was a little bit too awkward for me.**

**Next chapter- Canada's little brothers.**

**Until then-**

**Arwana13 out!**


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